


Tense

by electricblueninja



Series: Rise [1]
Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-29 13:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6378667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricblueninja/pseuds/electricblueninja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p> <img/> </p>
  <p>Shim Changmin is an enforcer for the notorious Kim Heechul. Tonight, he has been sent after Choi Siwon. He tracks the mark to a bar, which is owned by Jung Yunho. Everything should go according to plan, except Yunho looks like this:</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> <img/> </p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Changmin had never been good at expressing himself.

 

 

His talents lay in careful calculation and precision. He preferred to speak through actions rather than words.

 

 

As a matter of fact, silence was what had made him powerful. He owed his entire success to his natural quiet.

 

 

Talk was cheap—there were plenty of people able and willing to talk, but few could put their money where their mouths were. By contrast, Changmin prided himself on his ability to _act_. He trusted himself to be able to step up to the plate and do whatever needed to be done when it came down to the wire. And his ability to do so without idiotic verbal threats and swagger—in other words, to act without warning—was generally to his advantage in terms of actually getting shit done.

 

 

On the other hand, it kind of served him well that people couldn’t keep their mouths shut, because it meant that the word had got around. Without ever needing to say anything himself, Changmin had gained a reputation for being quiet but dangerous, and a direct and brutal son-of-a-bitch when necessary.

 

 

Other people were more than happy to share that information around. Cheap talk was what made the underworld fear and respect him, so he supposed, in a sense, he should be glad for it. He knew that Heechul, his employer of some years now, delighted in it, to the extent that he would use Changmin’s name as a casual threat when berating his underlings.

 

 

The fear inspired by Changmin’s name was different to that inspired by Heechul, though. Changmin was just doing his job. He didn’t take any pleasure in it. It was Heechul people should really be scared of. Heechul was the mastermind.

 

 

That being said, he liked Heechul well enough. Heechul was principled, for a gangster, which was why Changmin had agreed to start doing enforcement for him in the first place.

 

 

Heechul was actually very humane in the way he conducted his business. He was involved in trafficking and smuggling, and employed illegal immigrants, sex workers, and the like—but he made sure they all got paid, and paid rather well, at that. His rental racket also made sure he could provide secure housing for them. And, of course, there was Changmin himself, who, unable to find conventional civilian work after his extended time spent in special services, was now employed as a kind of…educational figure.

 

 

In the sense that if anyone had the balls to think that they could take liberties of any description with any of Heechul’s employees, they would receive a visit from Changmin, and he would ungently correct their misapprehension.

 

 

It was not the kind of work he did to make his parents proud, but for some reason, when he’d left the army, regular employers were alarmed when they saw his specialisations, and indeed the length of his military service. Well, he guessed he could understand that. After all, most men only went in for the mandatory two-year period. Changmin had gone in at eighteen, and left at twenty five, and he supposed that that must make people nervous.

 

 

Anyway, in his current employment with Heechul, as an ‘educator’, his actions were largely moral. He was a defender of human rights, after a fashion, which was at least in line with his personal values. And he got a reasonable amount of job satisfaction from cutting assholes down to size.

 

 

Not literally, mind—knives were too messy for his liking.

 

 

Changmin preferred a more hands-on approach, which allowed him to utilise his excellent knowledge of human anatomy and rather specific skill set. He had quite a talent for causing non-lethal damage, and the punishments were systematic—laying hands on a girl who worked for Heechul, for instance, meant starting with some broken fingers, and escalating depending on the degree of the offence. But the system of punishments was of Heechul’s devising, and Changmin could not imagine taking delight in their invention as Heechul had done. Really, Heechul was the one people should be scared of—Changmin was just the messenger.

 

 

Tonight, his mark was a certain Choi Siwon, playboy extraordinaire, who had seemed to think he was entitled to special service when he had visited one of Heechul’s establishments earlier in the evening.

 

 

When his requests had been declined by the girl, he had responded with a fist.

 

 

What he was going to experience reasonably soon would not be an identical match to the injuries he had inflicted, because, as Changmin would teach him, fists were one of the least effective ways to strike someone.

 

 

No, there would not be any ‘knuckle sandwiches’ involved: for Changmin, a good slap was much more fun to deliver, and much more humiliating for the recipient.

 

 

This would be followed by dislocating some digits.

 

 

So far, Changmin had spent ninety minutes tracking down Siwon, and another half an hour sitting at the bar, one eye on the target.

 

 

But sitting at the bar had made him the target of someone else’s attentions—the bartender, who had a smile made of light and sunshine and an ~~endearing~~ annoying propensity for small talk.

 

 

Tall and fit, with a face somewhere between strong and delicate, the bartender was personable in the way that bar managers must dream of—more like one from a story than in real life. His manner was easy and relaxed, and his ingenuous style of self-expression had been what forcibly reminded Changmin of his own ineptitude in that department. He could only grunt his replies to the melodious chatter that flowed easily in his direction.

 

 

He sort of wanted to be annoyed by it, and tell the bartender to shut up and leave him alone, but there was a kind of gentility of tone and softness to the tilt of the big man’s eyes that rendered him unable to do so. So he settled for grunting.

 

 

All the same, for a while, he wasn’t quite sure why the bartender was so determined to engage him in conversation. Changmin had spent many years cultivating what was supposed to be a grim and unapproachable exterior. Usually it worked, too. For the two years he had spent now in Heechul’s employ, Heechul himself was the only person Changmin knew who was able and willing to just _talk_ to him. So the bartender’s friendly advances were…not unpleasant, actually, but unexpected, and no entirely conducive to Changmin being able to get to his target.

 

 

With a glance into the bar mirror to reassure himself that Siwon was still indulging himself in the background, Changmin allowed his attention to drift, just a little, to contemplate the bartender again. He had given up on sending questions in Changmin’s direction, and was now polishing glasses with the corner of a tea-towel, humming softly.

 

 

It just so happened that he looked over as Changmin raised his eyes to him, and he averted his gaze immediately, disconcerted by the intensity of his own response to the warm, friendly dark eyes.

 

 

Slightly embarrassed, he felt a subtle heat under his collar; a sensation he’d thought he’d seen the last of; hadn’t felt it since…when? High school?

 

 

He went back to his beer, frowning, and annoyingly aware that the bartender continued to watch him for a moment, smiling a little as he continued to hum a tune, desperately at odds with the background music that was actually playing.

 

 

The bartender, Changmin reasoned, probably thought he was doing him a favour by keeping him company. Suited, as usual, Changmin realised that he must look like any old businessman, and what did businessmen go to bars alone in the early hours of the morning for, if not to stave off loneliness with drink and idle chatter?

 

 

Anyway, Changmin was here for a reason, and it wasn’t to drink away loneliness. He wasn’t lonely, and he didn’t have the time for warm brown eyes and chitchat.

 

 

He had a job to do, especially now that the bartender tapped against a glass gently with a spoon, and called for last drinks.

 

 

Changmin turned his mind to the best way to get Choi Siwon alone. He couldn’t afford to lose the asshole after spending the better part of two hours catching up with him, especially not for a dumb reason, like getting distracted by a large man with long hair and big hands and a really nice smile.

 

 

As it turned out, he needn’t have worried: about ten minutes later, Choi Siwon decided to come over to the bar all by himself. Changmin recognised his heavy tread even before he saw who it was.

 

 

He was interested, moreover, to see a subtle change in the bartender’s expression as the newcomer leaned on the counter. A certain tightening of the muscles around his mouth and eyes; sharpening his fox-like features.

 

 

_Very interesting indeed._

 

 

Did he recognise Choi Siwon?

 

 

Knew him?

 

 

Knew of him?

 

 

Or perhaps was just concerned about the attitude, which already suggested belligerence?

 

 

‘Barkeep,’ slurred Choi Siwon imperiously, even though he already had his full attention, ‘Your finest scotch.’

 

 

Affecting indifference, Changmin lowered his lashes to sip his beer, watching through them to study the bartender’s response.

 

 

When he’d arrived, it had been unclear to him whether the long-haired man was proprietor or employee; it was beginning to look like the former, particularly because he was about to do what any responsible proprietor would do when slurred at by a clearly inebriated customer at closing time, and politely decline to serve him.

 

 

‘I’m sorry, sir, but I think you may have had enough,’ the melodious voice said gently. ‘I have called for last drinks already, around ten minutes ago. Can I get you a soda or tonic, perhaps…?’

 

 

Changmin watched Siwon’s reflection covertly.

 

 

He was fairly drunk, swaying a little where he stood. He placed his hands on the bar to steady himself, and glanced sideways, perhaps only just realising that Changmin was there.

 

 

A scowl crossed over his features, but no hint of curiosity or recognition—just fragile masculinity, annoyed at the presence of a witness.

 

 

Turning back to the bartender, Siwon raised his eyebrows as he leaned forward and repeated emphatically: ‘ _Seu-co-cheu_ , Gwangju filth. I’m placing my last order. And I’m ordering the _bottle_.’

 

 

To his credit, the bartender seemed unphased by the insult and increased aggression.

 

 

‘I’m very sorry, sir, but I can’t serve you in your current state of inebriation,’ he said again, and Changmin was once again alarmed by a sensation he found inside himself; a small pocket of warmth in his stomach. He was a little bit too keen on the steely edge that stole into that soft _saturi_.

 

 

‘Scum,’ began Siwon, and with some difficulty and poor pronunciation, he unleashed a string of expletives, rising in volume, before suddenly being silenced by some internal discord.

 

 

He swayed again, mouth hanging open from where he’d paused mid-curse, and raised a hand to point viciously in the bartender’s direction, grinding out a harsh ‘I’ll be back.’

 

 

Then, he disappeared in the direction of the men’s room.

 

 

The bartender sighed and shook his head, looking slightly tense.

 

 

‘Does that happen often?’ Changmin asked, after a moment, and the bartender shot him a look of mild surprise (although in fairness, that was probably the most Changmin had actually said to him all night).

 

 

He shrugged and nodded wryly. ‘Son of a congressman. He likes to remind me every couple of visits.’

 

 

Changmin reverted to a grunted response, and they lapsed into silence again.

 

 

He waited until the bartender moved out into the bar to collect glasses, and until he felt that long enough had passed for him to follow the mark in without being noticed by the few remaining customers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Siwon was a little hard to keep quiet, but his expensive-looking and feeling pocket square was just the right size for his mouth, and the sound of an air dryer could drown out a surprising proportion of cracks and crunches.

 

 

Using a paper towel to prevent getting spit and vomit on his hands (Siwon had been throwing up when he had entered the bathroom), Changmin made sure to remove it from his mouth and return it to his pocket after he was finished.

 

 

The finishing touch was to pass on his boss’ best regards and place a pristine copy of Heechul’s business card in the mark’s wallet.

 

 

When Changmin re-emerged, the bartender was back behind the bar.

 

 

Casually, he resumed his seat, and said, ‘Excuse me. Could you call an ambulance, please? There seems to have had a bit of an accident. That yelling guy; I think he must have slipped in his own vomit.’

 

 

The bartender’s features showed alarm and bewilderment, and Changmin waved a hand. ‘He’ll be fine,’ he added. ‘I made sure his airways are clear and all that. But the sooner he gets some medical assistance the better. I think he broke something.’

 

 

The bartender gave Changmin a look he couldn’t quite interpret, but nodded and went over to the phone in the corner to make the call.

 

 

His beer was still half-full, so, job nearly done, Changmin took it over to the pool tables to amuse himself.

 

 

The paramedics arrived shortly afterwards, and Choi Siwon, unconscious, was carried out of the bathrooms on a stretcher.

 

 

Job truly done, now, Changmin could reward himself by actually enjoying the rest of the beer, and brushing up on his pool skills.

 

 

He had just sunk the eight-ball, when he glanced up to see the bartender standing at the other end of the table, holding a cue.

 

 

A quick glance around the bar revealed that it was now empty of customers; only Changmin and the bartender remained.

 

 

'I'm closing now,' the bartender said. 'Would you like a game?'


	2. Chapter 2

This question brought matters straight back to that business about Changmin’s problems with expressing himself.

 

 

‘Aren’t you closing?’ he asked, licking his lips, and trying not to feel nervous.

 

 

A small smile played over the tall man’s lips. His hair fell in a gentle curve around his face, softening the sharpness of his jaw; even then, he looked strangely wolfish. ‘I already closed.’

 

 

‘Oh,’ said Changmin. He thought that maybe he was getting an inkling of what _might_ be happening, but he didn’t want to start jumping to conclusions.

 

 

He heard himself clear his throat, and tried to pretend it didn’t make him sound like he was nervous.

 

 

‘Uh, sure,’ he said, and then, as an afterthought, added a moderating ‘I guess.’

 

 

‘It’s that or play with myself,’ said the bartender, smiling widely again, and there was a horrible moment when Changmin looked into that smile and honestly _couldn’t tell_ if the double entendre had been intentional, or if he just had a filthy, dirty mind.

 

 

Unwelcome and unfamiliar, the spectral creature called Uncertainty stirred in its lair, somewhere deep inside his chest, peering out into the world. It had been in hibernation for a long, long time, and now, it tilted its head and flexed its claws, curious. It was a novel sensation, was uncertainty. It left Changmin feeling faintly unsettled…and slightly aroused.

 

 

A deepening of the slight tilt at the corner of the bartender’s delicate lips offered no clarification whatsoever as to whether or not the suggestive comment had been deliberate.

 

 

How annoying.

 

 

‘Do you have a name, _son-nim_?’ asked the bartender, politely, and Changmin refocussed, realising that he had started leaning on his cue to hold his balance while he stared.

 

 

 _Pull yourself together, Shim_ , he chided inwardly, and Uncertainty settled back into its bed, allowing him to even out his keel a little.

 

 

His name?

 

 

This was a question he could answer—that was good.

 

 

‘Changmin,’ he said.

 

 

‘Nice to meet you, Changmin-ssi. I’m Yunho.’

 

 

Changmin grunted, nodded, and stared at the red felt of the tabletop.

 

 

He realised that, as far as responding went, this was surly, and possibly rude. He couldn’t help it, though. He felt unspeakably awkward.

 

 

He was much more comfortable when breaking peoples’ fingers. That kind of interaction was much more predictable than lion men with shaggy hair and suggestive comments.

 

 

Acutely aware of his own awkwardness, he glanced up again, meeting the relaxed warm eyes as evenly as he could manage.

 

 

‘Uh, would you like to break?’ he offered, gesturing to the table.

 

 

‘No, no,’ said Yunho, stepping back with a laugh and another flash of stunning white teeth, ‘be my guest.’

 

 

Changmin galvanised himself by upending what was left of his beer into his face, and then stepped forward. The malty flavour soothed him a little, but he could already feel that his game would be slightly off.

 

 

As Changmin emptied the remainder of his beer bottle, Yunho gave him another sly smile.

 

 

‘Can I get you another something, Changmin?’ he asked, hospitably.

 

 

‘That’s not necessary—’

 

 

‘No, no. Least I can do.’

 

 

Yunho had been wearing an apron, and now, as he crossed the room back over to the bar he removed it, dragging Changmin’s attention down to the world’s tightest dark blue jeans, stretched thin over muscular glutes and hamstrings.

 

 

‘Do you drink scotch, Changmin-ssi?’

 

 

Changmin looked back up to see Yunho glancing back over his shoulder, and cleared his throat guiltily. ‘Really, I don’t need—’

 

 

Yunho interrupted calmly. ‘On the rocks, then?’

 

 

‘…Yes,’ Changmin ceded, realising this was a losing battle, ‘On the rocks. Thank you.’

 

 

Yunho poured two overly generous ‘shots’ of scotch and returned, placing one heavy glass tumbler on the sideboard and sipping from the other. He leaned back against the wall to watch as Changmin lined up for the break.

 

 

Changmin broke, but didn’t sink anything.

 

 

He was sure that this had nothing to do with the fact that Yunho’s free hand had begun unbuttoning his shirt—that would be ridiculous. Changmin was a hard man. A man of the world. It would take more than a couple of undone shirt buttons and a visible swell of honey-coloured pectoral muscle to throw him off.

 

 

Yunho took up a cue and moved around the table to line up his own shot, his tongue peeking out between plump lips. He closed an eye, recalibrated, and, with alarming precision, sank three balls in a row.

 

 

Feeling played, Changmin felt the need to break the silence with a complaint. ‘You often play pool with customers after close then?’

 

 

Changmin timed the question just right, albeit by accident: Yunho missed his next shot, his eyes darting up to Changmin’s face at the question.

 

 

He stood back, but only a little; Changmin had to squeeze by him to line up one of the smalls, more of their bodies touching than seemed necessary as he did so.

 

 

The bartender smelled _warm_ , somehow, and rich; like alcohol, of course, but also spices, and citrus, and honey. It was a strange and heady combination that left Changmin’s senses…heightened.

 

 

He sank his first ball, and moved on to the second.

 

 

Yunho did nothing to get out of his way, though. ‘Not too often,’ he replied. ‘Do people often fall over in such a way as they break all ten fingers when you follow them into bars?’

 

 

Changmin’s turn to miss his shot.

 

 

The ball bounced off the pillows to roll into the eight-ball with a gentle clunk.

 

 

‘It’s not that I don’t appreciate it,’ Yunho added. ‘I know both sides of this town. I’m not about to start saying anything useless like “I don’t want any trouble”. If I was serious about avoiding trouble, I wouldn’t own a bar.’

 

 

He fixed Changmin with warm brown eyes, and smiled winsomely. ‘He really did take quite a tumble on the tiles in there, didn’t he?’

 

 

It had been a very long time since anyone had called Changmin out on…well, anything, really.

 

 

Let alone someone with such a nice mouth.

 

 

It was kind of…hot, actually.

 

 

For a moment he just stood there, stunned, before he gained a renewed awareness of the lack of personal space between them and stepped away, gesturing to the table with his cue.

 

 

‘Your shot,’ he muttered, more self-conscious than ever.

 

 

Yunho stepped up to the table, pressing past Changmin again to take a shot that was decidedly more challenging than the one that had been immediately in front of him.

 

 

This behaviour was almost a definite confirmation of Changmin’s initial suspicions, but did nothing to alleviate his self-consciousness, nor the distinct change in ~~his~~ the room’s temperature.

 

 

He tried to keep his eyes from tracing lines over Yunho’s shoulders as the other man drew his arm back to knock another ball straight into a pocket, and failed spectacularly.

 

 

Changmin, that was—Changmin failed to control his own eyeballs. The ball went in no trouble.

 

 

His gaze, flouting the self-discipline he'd thought he had, dropped lower still, to caress the backside of the man bending over before him.

 

 

 _You're disgusting, Shim. Get a hold of yourself,_ he rebuked irritably.

 

 

His inner voice was determined to have the last word, though, and responded with _I'd rather get a hold of that_ , because lordy if Yunho-ssi the bartender didn't fill out those tight pants when he leaned over, and right now he was leaning a long way over.

 

 

Changmin was still standing slightly too close to him, and somehow couldn’t force himself to step away.

 

 

The robust clatter of balls skittering across the table was followed by a disappointed noise from Yunho, who straightened up to his full height, and turned to look Changmin in the eye. He really was a very big man, and he really was very close, his next exhalation warm on Changmin’s cheek. And he really wasn't looking away.

 

 

Changmin swallowed hard.

 

 

This was probably a Very Bad Idea, but Changmin really did prefer to express himself with actions, and Yunho was standing awfully close already.

 

 

And it might be a Very Bad Idea, but he was also uncomfortably certain it would only take Yunho bending over once more for him to develop Very Pressing Urges, and he really might as well clarify the situation before he embarrassed himself.

 

 

Besides, what was the worst that could happen? The other man might try to fight him, he supposed, but Changmin could easily handle that outcome. And anyway, from how close Yunho was standing to begin with, it was unlikely.

 

 

He took a breath, and moved a little closer, closing the gap between them.

 

 

Yunho held his gaze, unflinching.

 

 

He did not move, even when Changmin placed his hands on his sides.

 

 

Changmin, willing himself to hold his nerve, slid his fingers from the middle of the other man’s ribcage down to his hips, and let them rest there.

 

 

The stillness between them was heavy, and from the moment of first contact, it began to thicken.

 

 

Yunho’s pert mouth twitched, briefly, into a knowing smile, and Changmin felt the resistance at his fingertips decrease as the other man shifted his weight forward; it was such a small movement, but over the ensuing moments it spread through them and filled up the space between them, drawn together like opposite magnetic polarities.

 

In this inexorable way, Yunho’s firm, hot body came to press against Changmin. He was hefty. Unfamiliar. His elegant hands proved every bit as dexterous with dick as they had been with the glasses; without comment, he reached down between them to give Changmin’s dick a gentle squeeze; a soft twist; a tilted palm; one or two appraising strokes.

 

 

Then, the wolfish grin was back, and Changmin began to feel slightly dizzy.

 

 

How long had it been, exactly, since someone else had touched him?

 

 

Like this, that is—as opposed to resisting him, clutching at him with fear and pain.

 

 

Months?

 

 

Years?

 

 

He wasn’t sure, actually.

 

 

Just...this was highly irregular. But then again, never before had he come across a man who looked like Yunho.

 

 

He closed his eyes and let out a moan that was almost pained as Yunho tightened long fingers experimentally around his length again; gritting his teeth against the intensity of the sensation.

 

 

Keeping his eyes closed to protect himself from the warm, chocolatey gaze, he said: 'I don't even know you.'

 

 

The response he got was a soft laugh. 'No,' Yunho agreed, 'But I can tell you'd really, really like to.'

 

 

Changmin's face must have showed his unease, because Yunho made a soft, soothing sound; a hum, beginning from deep within his body. Changmin felt the reverberations of it before he heard the sound itself: gentle, reassuring.

 

 

'It's okay: I won't tell anyone. I know when to keep my mouth shut. If we fuck, you won't scare me, but you don't scare me anyway.'

 

 

Changmin's eyes fluttered open at this, startled by Yunho's directness.

 

 

He found himself looking into a smile that had moved from wolf to kitten; now playful and inviting.

 

 

Without that flash of teeth and with the steel gone from his eyes, only the musculature pressed against him served to remind him of the possible threat Yunho posed, but the muscles were slack, Yunho relaxed and pliant against him.

 

 

His tongue slipped out between his teeth, wetting the plump, pink surface of his lips, and Changmin swallowed once more, mesmerised, as those lips moved out of his line of vision and into his personal space, pressing against his ear. A hint of stubble brushed against his cheek as Yunho murmured

 

 

‘I won’t even make you undress, Changmin-ssi'

 

 

and unzipped his fly.


	3. Chapter 3

Changmin’s breath hissed out through his teeth as Yunho took him in hand, his grip firm and self-assured.

 

 

He distracted himself from the relaxed way Yunho was extricating him from his own pants by studying the other man’s face as he pulled back.

 

 

The first thing he had thought about the bartender was ‘pretty’. This, though, had had a lot to do with his strong jawline, long eyelashes, and the shiny soft curtain of his hair.

 

 

Now, at such intimate quarters, Changmin was already noticing things about Yunho that told another story. Added depth and complexity to his first impression, which had been of little more than beauty.

 

 

Changmin should know better than to trust first impressions. Of course, his initial assessments of people were usually right, when it came to instinctive judgements about character and threat, but he should know better than to trust them entirely as the measure of a person.

 

 

Yunho’s face, up close, was far from flawless. He was still quite beautiful, but not ‘pretty’. There was strength and character in his features that had been disguised at a distance; perhaps on purpose.

 

 

The first thing Changmin noticed was the mole above Yunho’s lip, on the right, as Changmin looked at him, so technically the left side of his face.

 

 

The second thing was the scarring—a slightly jagged, diagonal line that began at the edge of Yunho’s nose and stretched upwards about an inch, to stop just below the middle of his eye. It was faint and well-healed, but still conspicuous in this intimate position.

 

 

Once Changmin had noticed that, he noticed the other one, too, though it was better concealed by Yunho’s shaggy mane. It began at the corner of the same eye, and disappeared behind the long curtain of his hair.

 

 

Changmin wondered how far it went. Till his ear, perhaps? Or not quite that far?

 

 

He also wondered what kind of history of violence had drawn those lines on Yunho’s face.

 

 

He made these observations quickly and quietly, still subconsciously assessing risk. It had been quite some time since he’d been tempted to have sex with a stranger, and his training still warned him to take all necessary precautions.

 

 

Speaking of…

 

 

‘Wait,’ he blurted, catching Yunho’s hand and tucking himself back in, though not bothering to do anything up again, ‘Bathroom,’ and Yunho nodded amicably, his eyes still smiling.

 

 

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘Good. I’ll find the other stuff.’

 

 

They reconvened again within moments. Changmin’s heart rate was increasingly steadily, anticipation getting the better of him, and the moment Yunho came back into his line of vision again, it spiked. He could feel _thump, thump_ juddering in his chest, knocking against his ribcage, and hated himself for being such an adolescent.

 

 

But there Yunho was, still smiling, still inviting, still real, and as Changmin stood before him again he noticed the faint dilation of the other man’s pupils; one of several small, comforting signals that suggested he felt the same way.

 

 

‘Can you turn around?’ Changmin asked, and Yunho raised his eyebrows but complied, turning away to lean against the edge of the pool table, and setting the bottle of lube down next to him.

 

 

Changmin, trying to force his breathing to stay even, pulled himself out again and rolled a condom (he’d gotten two, just in case; sometimes bar vending machines were a little bit wanting in quality) down over his cock, the little foil packet fluttering to the ground, the stretch of rubber, and the unsychronised sounds of the two men breathing the only sounds in the room.

 

 

Hesitant, he returned his hands to Yunho’s body, sliding his palms up under the thin white material of Yunho’s shirt to absorb the warmth of his skin; get a sense of the rippling coils of power concealed not far beneath.

 

 

Then, willing his hands not to shake, he pressed closer and slid his palms downward, stepping into a near-embrace and pushing his hands forward to unbutton Yunho’s jeans; unzip the fly; push the denim and the soft cotton shorts down and away.

 

 

The same again: Yunho was warm and soft to the touch, but below a thin layer of lenience was the unyielding rigidity of muscle and bone. From tracing over his hips, Changmin brushed curious fingertips down through the coarse curls of pubic hair. Reaching the firm and hairless base of Yunho’s cock, Changmin closed the careful fingers of one hand around it, and was rewarded with a throaty moan and a roll of the hips. It pulled an audible groan out of him, too, because the way Yunho moved meant that Changmin’s dick was guided softly between the curve of the other man’s ass cheeks.

 

 

He reached for the lube with his free hand, movements becoming clumsy as lust fogged his senses. In the end, he needed both hands to even pop the lid open, much less to sluice it over his cock, and the fingers of one hand.

 

 

Yunho pushed back against him again, perhaps feeling a little urgency of his own, and Changmin slid the slick fingers of one hand between his ass cheeks, gently forcing his glutes apart enough to press a fingertip against the other man’s asshole.

 

 

He worked at this until he could fit two fingers in, past the knuckle, with relative ease. Yunho was every bit as tight and rich and powerful as everything else about him had suggested, and Changmin was beginning to unravel from the inside, hot and hungry; anticipation looping through his guts at the thought of sinking inside Yunho’s body.

 

 

‘Are you…?’

 

 

Yunho’s hair shimmered in the yellow light as he nodded and murmured his assent: ‘Should be.’

 

 

But though Yunho was slick and wet, Changmin was too hasty. He guided his dick to Yunho’s asshole, and, feeling the muscles slacken, pushed in. But it was too much, too fast.

 

 

Yunho’s breath hissed in through his teeth—and not in the good way—as his asshole tightened around Changmin’s cock, resisting the incursion.

 

 

Judging by the way Yunho stiffened beneath him, biting down on a yelp, he’d hurt him.

 

 

Flustered, Changmin struggled against panic to wait until Yunho’s body let go a little before he drew back and pulled out. He railed against himself internally, cursing his overenthusiasm and resulting incompetence.

 

 

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, immediately, his voice ridden with anxiety as it broke the pained silence, ‘I’m sorry—’

 

 

Yunho breathed out harshly, his knuckles white on the edge of the table, shooting a dark glance over his shoulder that made Changmin die a little on the inside. ‘ _Jesus_ , Changmin,’ he said, in rich cadence, ‘ _Fucking_ hell.’

 

 

Changmin, abashed, drew back entirely. He felt himself flushing red with embarrassment as Yunho pinned him with an injured glare, turning to face him.

 

 

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, meekly.

 

 

Never in his life had he literally hung his head in shame before this moment; yet suddenly, and in a most unexpected way, with a _stranger_ , he was being slammed with a very uncomfortable epiphany about trust and intimacy.

 

 

Yunho’s delicate nostrils flared a little as he recovered. His breathing evened out, deepening in response to what must have been conscious effort. He glanced downwards, and then up again, releasing a sharp sigh. ‘Changmin-ssi,’ he said, sternly, ‘ _That_ is much bigger than your fingers.’

 

 

Changmin could not remember the last time he had wanted to die. He could only nod again, hands curled at his sides.

 

 

He did not expect those big warm hands to cover his own, and unfold his fingers. But when he managed to drag his eyes upwards again, he was looking into warm dark eyes, and the cold prickle of shame receded slowly in the face of the other man’s warm gaze.

 

 

‘Changmin-ssi,’ he said, still working on forcing Changmin’s hands open again, ‘It’s okay. It’s okay. Come here.’

 

 

He took Changmin’s hands and placed them on his back, holding them there and shifting away until his backside rested against the edge of the pool table.

 

 

Changmin followed, timid in the face of his humiliation. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t—’

 

 

‘Changmin-ssi, I said it’s okay.’

 

 

Yunho released his hands, but his eyes told Changmin to leave them where they were, on his back, and Changmin obeyed, resting them shyly in place. Yunho’s lats swelled under his palms as the other man lifted himself lightly onto the edge of the pool table.

 

 

He reached behind himself to sweep the remaining balls out of the way, and then turned back, large, gentle hands cupping Changmin’s cheeks with unexpected tenderness.

 

 

‘It’s fine, big fella. You just…have girth. And I have limits. So we’re gonna have to go gently, yeah?’

 

 

Pool-table-related understanding dawning on him, Changmin gulped and nodded, still feeling like a massive moron. In fact, maybe even more so like a massive moron. No, worse—like an overexcited teenager. That was what he felt like.

 

 

Yet there was Yunho, stroking his cheeks gently and staring at him in this patient, forgiving way, and it was so effective at calming him down that he had a whole new thing to be embarrassed about.

 

 

‘Alright, Changmin-ssi?’ Yunho said softly, one of his hands falling to loosen Changmin’s tie, ‘Want you. But you have to let me take my time.’

 

 

Changmin was experiencing far too many emotions for one evening. The only thing he could do was nod, and Yunho smiled _again_ , but softly this time, and, somewhat unexpectedly, pulled him in by the tie to kiss him gently on the lips, before sliding his hand all the way to the end of the tie and lowering himself back against the red felt, hips canted upwards, supported by the table’s lip.

 

 

Changmin had never, ever seen anything so magnificent before; he wanted to lean back and appreciate the whole view more fully, but Yunho’s grip on his tie might’ve choked him if he’d done so. Instead, he filed the key points away in his mind; tumbled, dyed, long hair spilling out across the table-top; caramel skin, white shirt, red felt, and black, black pubic hair; long, hard legs; soft mouth; soft eyes.

 

 

‘Try now, Changmin,’ said Yunho, and, very careful, this time, Changmin moved against him—just _against_ him, letting Yunho be the one to decide when, and how much, to take him in.

 

 

The new position made a profound difference; Yunho’s body curved up to meet him, instead of fighting. The initial resistance was the same, but, face to face, Changmin made sure to watch Yunho carefully, searching for any sign of pain or discomfort in his expression.

 

 

It was funny, though. Changmin had thought that he _knew_ bodies, better than anything, and was now forced to cede that this was untrue. What he knew was how to cause _pain_. Now, suddenly, he wanted to do the opposite, and it did not come naturally.

 

 

Yunho, though, was a receptive coil of muscle and bone beneath him: wrapping around him, taking him in, and teaching him. Teaching him through the terrifying intimacy of eye contact, and the minute changes of his facial expression, and his grip on the end of Changmin’s tie, through which he spoke a kind of morse code.

 

 

And Changmin, motivated by his desire to compensate for before, was desperate to learn. He clung hungrily to every clue Yunho gave him; filed away every sign and symptom of pleasure newly recognised. And after a while, he could feel Yunho opening up, pulling him in further, and began to wonder aloud—

 

 

‘More?’

 

 

The warmth of Yunho’s smiles was unbearable. Even the softest curve of his lips was like looking into the sun.

 

 

‘Yes,’ he said, and Changmin complied, placing his hands on Yunho’s powerful hamstrings and holding up his thighs to slide deeper into the welcoming heat of Yunho’s body.

 

 

‘Shit,’ he whispered, and Yunho echoed him with a sigh, relinquishing his grip on Changmin’s tie.

 

 

Changmin worked his way in and out, slow and hard, watching with fascination as Yunho’s cock began to weep precum.

 

 

The sucking, squelching sounds of sex filled the dimly-lit bar. Yunho reached out to grab the edges of the table—some kind of bizarre, unsavoury, sexual crucifixion. His shirt was damp with sweat now, in patches: his skin showed through. Changmin could feel the sweat sliding down his spine and settling at the small of his back.

 

 

One of Yunho’s hands crept down to his cock and began to massage the shaft. Still hypnotised by the sight of it, Changmin studied the movements of his fingers and palm. Yunho began to tremble; the tip of Changmin’s cock was nudging a small, soft spot inside of him, and Changmin allowed himself a moment of smug satisfaction as, finally, desperately, quietly and yet loudly, Yunho came, the thick, white semen splashing erratically over his shirt, and his stomach, where the shirt had ridden up, and the surface of the pool table, in stark, almost artistic contrast to the crimson of the felt.

 

 

The ability to control his own pleasure was something Changmin was deeply proud of, but as Yunho convulsed around him, it was something he did not have, and he, too, let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short epilogue still to...uh...come


	4. Chapter 4

Changmin stared, uncomprehending, at the sweaty mess of a man splayed out on the bright red table-top before him.

 

 

His mind struggled in vain to understand what, exactly, had just transpired between him and this stranger. A stranger who did not _feel_ like a stranger. A stranger who made him feel…altogether too much.

 

 

His throat was dry and raw from panting.

 

 

He swallowed, trying to appease the need for liquid, but was desperately unsuccessful.

 

 

What _had_ just happened?

 

 

Yunho’s eyes were closed, his powerful chest heaving as he rode out the aftershocks. The tremors ran through Changmin, too, and again the intimacy was to an almost unspeakable degree.

 

 

_What just happened?_

 

 

_It was an exchange,_ his internal macho voice interrupted sternly, _of bodily fluids, and don’t you dare start thinking otherwise, you fucking sop_.

 

 

Changmin quailed at this internal, self-directed aggression, and faltered, his eyes falling away from Yunho’s blissful, peaceful, sexual expression to not-quite-focus on the curling hairs that created a gradual darkening on their way up his powerful thighs.

 

 

Here, too, Changmin realised, there were traces of another life etched into his skin, not quite concealed by the increasingly dense shadow of his body hair. Interesting, jagged lines that were the wrong kind of familiar. The kind of marks that had given Changmin his distaste for knives, as a matter of fact.

 

 

He was distracted from the discomfort of his own emotions by this discovery, and he let the contemplation fully occupy his conscious mind—it was much more comfortable than the other Stuff that had tried to suggest itself to him.

 

 

Yunho sighed heavily, and relaxed slowly. When he seemed ready, Changmin inched his way out of his body, quietly resenting the uncharacteristic surge of carefulness, verging dangerously on tenderness, which coursed through him.

 

 

Luckily, Yunho seemed unwilling to make eye contact, or perhaps incapable of doing it. He covered his face with one of his forearms and just lay there on his back, open and vulnerable and strangely innocent.

 

 

Changmin swallowed another thick wad of his own spit, and discomfort raked down his neck.

 

 

He removed the condom; tied it off; stepped away, chucking it at a nearby bin, and reaching for the glass of scotch Yunho had poured for him before the world had changed.

 

 

The fire of the aged single malt was salve to his nerves, and he gulped it down without a pause as soon as the cool glass touched his lips.

 

 

A bad idea. This had been _such_ a bad idea. He could not come back here.

 

 

Yunho sat up, uncomfortably, and they finally exchanged a look; a look so heady it was almost a conversation in its own right, without those word things that Changmin was no good at. But only so much could be conveyed through the wordless bond between their eyes. Or…really, the problem might have been that _too_ much was conveyed by the link between their eyes, and Changmin had to break it before he made the mistake of letting someone see too deep inside of him.

 

 

He set the glass down on the sideboard again, and gave the red felt of the pool table a meaningful glance. He calculated his expression to introduce carefree humour to the interaction, and said: ‘You’re going to need to redo the felt on that.’

 

 

Yunho still looked slightly hazy, but he grinned in response, grabbing his shirtfront with a lazy hand and pulling the transparent white cloth away from his skin. (The sight sent a rush of gooseflesh over Changmin’s body, but he was protected by the high-quality cloth of his suit; he covered himself for appearance’s sake, and it conveniently meant that not an inch of his skin could deceive him in terrible situations like this, however rare they might be.)

 

 

‘I should bill you for it,’ said Yunho, still grinning.

 

 

Changmin felt himself blush.

 

 

He shook himself, disgusted. And yet, though he could only jerk his head in an awkward nod and fucking _leave_ , because otherwise he was going to get himself into trouble, he still threw his business card onto the table top before he stalked out, trying to step hard enough that he could pretend he couldn’t hear the sound of his own heart thudding in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so if this turns into...like...another series...will you hate me...?

**Author's Note:**

> Trying something a little different. Let me know what you think?
> 
> ***Changmin's reference picture was [ this first but I changed it](http://s109.photobucket.com/user/misuchiruh/media/ShimChangmin_Tohoshinki-Tvxq_27-2.jpg.html). The other one is more...something.


End file.
